Recollection
by Squints1318
Summary: The former Colonial Magistrate reflects on the evacuation of his colony, and meets a few new people along the way. Leaving this as in-progress in case I decide to do more.
1. Chapter 1

The interior of the _Hyperion_ had certainly seen better days. The narrow metal corridors, rumored to be resurrected from a junk heap on some fringe world, were beginning to show their age, and the stench of lukewarm, filtered air filled the spaces between walls. It made everything, he mused, smell like a corridor in a hospital. Sterile, but with an underlying feeling of disease that he just couldn't shake.

It was fitting, somewhat, that a growing band of idealistic rebels saw this as their flagship. And now, he was one of them.

The former Colonial Magistrate of Mar Sara thought this to himself, as he followed a red-haired young woman in a form-fitting hostile environment suit silently through the web of hallways that made up the battlecruiser _Hyperion. _The heart of the ever-growing Sons of Korhal rebel group, they had grown to be quite a thorn in the side of the Terran Confederacy. They had won over the hearts and minds of the Magistrate's people, preaching how the Confederacy was wrong, and how the only way that they would get the freedom they deserve is to fight for it. The pair stopped as they stepped aboard a lift, waiting patiently as they ascended to the command deck.

It had been a very close call, the evacuation. The swarm of aliens (now identified as the Zerg, according to the Confederates) was on the verge of overrunning their last defenses. With the arrest of Marshall Raynor and pretty much the entire colonial militia, the Magistrate had put every able-bodied individual with the ability to hold a gun onto the line, with orders to 'hold the line.' The people didn't need any more incentive then that. They knew rescue was coming, and they knew that they had to stay alive until then.

But even then, so many had died that night. Faces the Magistrate had gotten to know and respect, revile and hate, and even love. And they died. Died because the Confederates, damn them all to hell, took away their only source of protection. Died because they didn't have a choice. Died so that others could live.

"And how many more would have died if they didn't fight?" The Magistrate looked up, surprised to be hearing another voice, noticing that the woman was looking in his direction, her eyebrow raised. "Think of it this way, Magistrate." She continued, the edges of her lips forming a small smile "When there is a chance of total annihilation, those threatened aren't going to just lie down and die. No, they're going to fight. They're going to fight as long as there's hope. Hope for a tomorrow." Her smile brightened as she leaned against the lift's railing, gripping it with her hands. "You already know that, though. But you feel a little better now that you've heard it from someone else."

The Magistrate chuckled, shaking his head slowly, knowing that she was absolutely right. She was a ghost: a telepathic stealth operative. The suit should've given it away. He suddenly felt himself tense up.

"Don't worry, Magistrate." She consoled, tilting her head to the side. "If I was going to kill you, you wouldn't even have time to worry about it."

She let him think about that for a second, as the lift finally slid to a halt at the top level. A short corridor stood in front of them, in front of a pair of metal doors.

"Wait here a second." She said, disappearing behind those same doors, reappearing a moment later. "The General will see you now."

The General? Now that was something new.

The bridge of the _Hyperion _very much seemed like the personal quarters of it's captain. Nearly empty, save for a single figure overlooking a number of automated LED screens, data flashing across. The woman took a position at the door, leaning against it with her arms folded. Noticing his presence, the man turned. He cut a tall, imposing figure. A well-groomed beard ran across his face, and his steel gray eyes seemed to piece his already compromised mental fortress.

"Good evening, Magistrate." Arcturus Mengsk began. "It's nice to finally meet you in person…"


	2. Chapter 2

The Colonial Magistrate tilting his head in something that could have resembled amusement. "Arturus Mengsk." He began, the barest hint of a confederate accent evident in his voice. "UNN said you were a bit…shorter.

Mengsk simply chuckled. "There are a lot of things that UNN says about me. My favorite is the one where I keep a pet zerg to torture whoever I don't like. But where are my manners?" He approached the magistrate, holding out his hand. "Arcturus Mengsk, General and de facto leader of the Sons of Korhal."

The Magistrate nodded curtly, meeting Mengsk's hand with one of his own. Up close, Mengsk commanded an imposing presence. Nearly a head taller than the Magistrate, his neatly-groomed beard matched his cold, gray eyes. His stature and prose begot someone of education and culture, not at all the bloody, unwashed terrorist that the Confederacy painted him to be. His expression was hardened, and his grip firm. Certainly, the Magistrate thought, this was a man destined to be a leader. Retracting his hand, Mengsk cast his gaze toward the door.

"Lieutenant, would you please allow me a moment in private with our guest?"

The Magistrate looked back. The woman from before looked up from the floor, before nodding once.

"Of course, sir." Picking herself up from the wall, she cast the Magistrate a quick glance, before proceeding to exit the room.

"You'll have to forgive Lieutenant Kerrigan." Mengsk explained, noticing the look in the Magistrate's eye. "Her telepathic abilities make her an invaluable second-in-command."

"I'm sure…" The Magistrate responded, watching the closed doors with new-found interest. It didn't take someone of his intelligence to figure to keep on eye on that one, and not just for her looks.

Noticing his attention was elsewhere, Mengsk took the initiative, crossing over to the side of the room. "Would you care for a drink, Magistrate?" He pressed a button on a wall-panel, watching it slide away, revealing a polished hard-wood drinks cabinet. Reaching over, he pulled two glasses from a small shelf, filling them both with ice

The Magistrate looked over. Even though proper etiquette demanded he refuse, after all that he had just been through, a drink was something he could do with at that moment.

"Whiskey, if you got it."

Letting off a small chuckle, Mengsk obliged, pouring two glasses of the hard liquor, handing one to his guest.

"I can't thank you and your people enough for what they did." The Magistrate let out, taking a sip of his drink, his body warming as he felt the cool liquid slide down his esophagus. This wasn't any fifth-rate brand, either. This was the good stuff. His respect for Mengsk increased slightly. A man could be read by the kind of liquor he kept in his drinks cabinet.

"We couldn't just leave the colony to be massacred by those…zerg." He said, pronouncing the last word with a hint of disgust. "Not after the Confederates were so quick to abandon them."

"Speaking of the Confederates…" The Magistrate cut in. "What's our next move?" This was a question the Magistrate had been meaning to ask since the moment he had met this man. Openly accepting aid from a rebel group had effectively, at the very least, put the final nail in the coffin of his political career. Not that being the Magistrate of a dusty, backwater colony world was a very prestigious posting to begin with.

Mengsk raised an eyebrow. "That very much is your decision, Magistrate." He took a sip of his own brew. "Now that you've accepted our help, you should know that going back to your previous life in the Confederacy is nigh impossible. To be blunt, you're a criminal now, just like me."

The Magistrate considered that for a moment. A criminal. He knew, somewhere in his mind, that he had become one, but the way he had put it had really hit him. He was a criminal. An outlaw. Thinking about it made his stomach churn. Or maybe that was the whiskey. He wasn't entirely sure.

Mengsk continued "However, that doesn't mean you're automatically a rebel. I don't want to make you feel as if you're being forced into a position you don't want to be in. So, I'm going to make you another offer." He paused for a moment, setting his drink down on his desk. "I'm going to offer you a position on my senior staff. The offer is yours to take, or refuse, if you wish." He continued, knowing what the Magistrate was about to ask. "If you refuse, we will allow you to leave at your earliest convince. There is a ship in our fleet leaving for Umoja tomorrow morning, and you're welcome to start a new life there." He nodded. "The choice is yours, Magistrate."

The two were silent for a good while, as the Magistrate considered this. While the offer to leave for Umoja was certainly tempting, he felt that running away with his tail between his legs was the coward's way out. The Sons of Korhal represented something greater than any individual human. The fight for freedom. Liberation against the oppression of the Confederacy. Was this man, this Arturus Mengsk, the one that was going to do it? Staring into his face, the Magistrate saw the grim determination that echoed across Mengsk's bearded features. This man was going to put the long-awaited silver bullet into the heart of the Terran Confederacy.

And nobody was going to get in his way.

"Alright…general." The Magistrate said, downing the remains of his drink in a single gulp. "You've got yourself another deal."

Mengsk's features formed a smile. "I'm happy to hear it, _Commander_." He replied, his voice becoming commanding and authoritative. He turned, picking up and subsequently finishing his own drink. "In that case, you are to return to your office on the planet's surface, and await further orders. There, you will be joined by _Captain_ Raynor, and the remnants of your colonial militia."

The Magistrate replied with a sharp, crisp salute. "Yes, sir."

With that, he turned on his heel, and marched from the room.

Arcturus Mengsk watched the Magistrate, now Commander, as he left, seeing the doors close behind him. He stood in silence for a moment, listening for the sound of the lift descending from the command deck.

"Well?" He asked aloud, seemingly to nobody in particular.

The sound of shimmering energy echoed throughout the room as what was before a simple ripple in the air began to take form. What seemed like waves of distorted light took shape, than color. Sarah Kerrigan let her balance slip from the beam attached on the ceiling, her feet dropping to the metal floor with a _thud_. Pushing her goggles to just above her forehead, she regarded her boss.

"I wouldn't worry about him right now." She said, putting a hand on her hip. Reading him was like an open book. "He respects you, and will follow orders. But he's worried just how far you're willing to go to achieve your goal."

"I see…" Mengsk said, absorbing this new information. "What about you? What do you think of him?"

"He's a good person." She remarked, fixing her eyes on the door.

"And a man of his word."


	3. Chapter 3

Tracer fire and longbolt missiles crossed the sky, chasing after the shadows of enemy fliers, while the deafening boom of the arclite shock cannon bombarded the advancing waves of enemy ground forces with high-explosive rounds. Infantry soldiers, suited up in heavy power-armor as soon as they heard the first shot, grabbed their weapons off of the waiting gun racks, before rushing to their assigned bunkers, preparing for the coming onslaught.

The former Magistrate, now the Commander, pressed himself up against the wall, as three red-armored marines (courtesy of the Sons of Korhal, part of his new security detail) double-timed it past him, their C-14 'Impaler' gauss rifles at the ready. Once they had past, the Commander resumed his march. It certainly didn't take long after the fall of the major Mar Saran cities for the zerg to appear outside his office. According to reports, the aliens had now overrun a vast majority of the planet's surface, and both he, and the remaining Confederate troops stationed here were having the fight of their life to hold them back.

However, he knew that trying to hold back this…swarm of zerg was a fight that they couldn't win. But it didn't take someone of his intelligence to figure that one out. The numbers of the enemy were boundless, and their supplies seemingly unlimited. His beleaguered defenders could hold the line for now, but soon they would have to evacuate.

Stopping in front of a pair of doors, the Commander looked down, inserting his hand into a waiting palm-reader. A green light moved up and down his palm, the computer matching the identification with the fingerprint files on record. After a short time, an affirmative _beep_ was heard.

"_Access granted. Good evening, Magistrate."_ The computerized voice greeted him warmly, before the two doors slid open.

The Commanders old office wasn't really anything worth noting. A polished mahogany wood desk stared back at him, with two cushioned chairs in front for visitors. A raised, black-leather chair sat behind the desk, while the screen of a computer console, it's circuitry integrated into the desk sat idle, off to the side. The far wall behind the desk was actually not a wall at all, but a massive plasteel window. Normally, this overlooked the capital of Mar Sara, Mar Sara City. However, all it overlooked now was a scorched ruin, as his troops fought a desperate battle to hold the line against an impossible enemy. He crossed over, taking a seat in the leather chair. Tapping a few buttons on his desk, the LED screen on his console lit up, infused with new life.

"Adjutant." He commanded, before being greeted with a holographic image of his adjutant unit. The stopped for a moment, as a nearby blast from an arclite siege tank shook the building. "Give me a status report."

"Commander." The adjutant began, its cybernetic brain making several thousand assessments and calculations in the blink of an eye. "According to reports, the zerg have expanded their sphere of influence at an astronomical rate, overrunning an estimated eighty-two percent of the planet's surface. Due to the evacuation, civilian causalities have remained minimal, however, military causalities have been on the rise." The cyborg continued on in further detail, detailing exact numbers and statistics about casualty rates and troop movements before moving on. "According to intercepted transmissions, Tarsonis has deemed this planet lost, and General Duke has ordered a full-scale evacuation of all Confederate forces. Estimations indicate that they will have completely pulled back from the surface within four to seven standard hours, providing their defenses withstand the zerg attack."

"I see." The Commander stroked his chin, running his hands down the thin goatee that decorated his features. "I suppose the good general has had just about enough of us 'damn fringe-world yokels'." He chuckled, imitating the General's voice to a somewhat frightening degree. Serves him right. He was about to say more, but a whirr and a beep from his adjutant cut him off.

"Incoming transmission."

The Commander looked over, pressing a button on his desk. The screen on his console lit up again, before displaying the image of a fresh-faced, clean shaven young man in a dark naval uniform.

"Commander." He began, saluting briskly. "This is Lieutenant Matthew Horner, of the transport _Cormorant_. We've been dispatched by Arcturus Mengsk to facilitate the extraction of your remaining forces, and will be arriving within the hour."

"Very good, lieutenant." The Commander responded, a little relieved to be informed that Mengsk hadn't just decided to leave him to die. "Do try to hurry, though. It's getting awfully hairy out here." As if to emphasize his point, the force of a nearby blast rocked the building, sending dust from the ceiling, as well as the oil portrait of the Commander upon his appointment, falling to the floor.

"Of course, sir. Stand by for our arrival." Lieutenant Horner nodded once, before cutting the transmission off with a push of a button. Alone again, the Commander looked over to his adjutant again.

"Let's move on, Adjutant." He said, continuing his discussion from before. "Do the Confederates suspect anything about the Sons' presence in the system?"

Another beep and a whir. "Your tenure as Colonial Magistrate is suspended, pending an official investigation of your affiliation with the Sons of Korhal."

"Is that so?" He responded. "I guess it can't be helped." That was too bad, really. He had always thought that the title 'Magistrate' had a nice ring to it. But, there were much more important things to consider. Things like making sure that he was still alive the next day.

"Receiving incoming transmission…"

Without being prompted, the Commander's console flashed again. He raised an eyebrow, noticing the familiar face that stared back at him.

"Hey, man" Marshall James Raynor began. "Arcturus' boys sprung me from the prison ship…" He let off a toothy smirk, to which the Commander shook his head, but couldn't help but grin. Jim Raynor was the very definition of trouble. Former marine, turned deserter, turned outlaw, that man was a hardened bastard topped with hardened bastard sauce and filled with hardened bastard filling. When he first arrived to this post, the Commander had wondered why the hell his predecessor thought it would be a good idea to make someone like him the Marshall, and even considered finding a replacement. After a few weeks, however, he quickly understood why. Crime rate across the colony remained incredibly low throughout his tenure. Nobody dared go against the law if they knew that Marshall Raynor was going to be coming for them.

A soft-spoken, hard-drinking son-of-a-bitch, Raynor didn't have to prove anything to anyone. His record and reputation did all the talking for him. And when he did have to get involved, he never once had to use his gun. Ever. In the end, he was a damn good Marshall.

He went on. "Apparently, they're as frustrated with the Confederates as we are."

Wasn't that the understatement of the decade?

"I know their reputation, but they seem to be on the level." Raynor raised his eyebrow, as if noticing something on his console. "I think Arcturus wanted to speak with you."

No sooner had he said that, the Commander was greeted with another portrait appearing on the side of the console screen.

"Commander." Arcturus Mengsk began. "Mar Sara is almost completely overrun by the zerg."

The Commander raised his eyebrow. He hadn't noticed. Arcturus continued.

"The Confederates are abandoning the planet, and so are we. However, there is one more thing I'd like to do before we leave."

And here it comes, the Commander mused. The reason he was still sitting in his office on this dying world, as his people fought a losing battle to keep the aliens back.

"I want you to raid this colony's Confederate outpost and retrieve whatever design or weapons schematics that you can find in their networks." A pause for breath. "With the chaos of the Confederates' evacuation, you shouldn't have any trouble getting in or out of their installation."

Well, that seemed fair enough. The Confederates holed up at the 'top-secret' Jacobs Installation probably had a couple things that they weren't exactly willing to tell their colonial friends what they doing, and only an idiot would buy what the propaganda said. Well, it couldn't hurt to look.

Raynor nodded, as if he and the Commander were on the same page.

"I'm into it."

The hangar bay of the _Cormorant_ wasn't exactly something worth noting. Converted and used interchangeably with the cargo bay, it was cramped, crowded, and claustrophobic. The transport's single dropship stood in the middle, surrounded by stacks of cargo containers, while the assembled marines and firebats gathered around, jostling for room with each other as they gathered around the portable holo-projector.

"You will enter the base through the main entrance, located here." The Commander announced aloud, gesturing to the area with his finger. "The Confederates are in the middle of evacuating their forces, and cannot spare many men to protect what's left. Resistance will be light. Once you're inside, you're to find some kind of main access hub, and download anything and everything you can onto these portable discs. He held up a single portable disc, showing it to the gathered soldiers. "After which, you can exit the way you entered, where the dropship will take you into orbit." He looked around him at the visored faces of the soldiers. "Simple as that."

"How the hell are we gonna know what one of them 'access hubs' look like?" A marine asked gruffly, holding a smouldering Rebel Red cigar between his thumb and pointer. He was leaning against one of the cargo containers, his gauss rifle and helmet up against the side.

"It shouldn't be too hard." The Commander answered, turning to look at the one who asked. "It's probably going to be the largest computer in the base, in an area that's well-guarded. So, if you find a lot of confeds, you're heading in the right direction."

The marine nodded, before sticking the cigar back in his mouth, apparently satisfied with the answer.

The Commander waited for further questions. Noticing there was none, he nodded.

"Alright, boys." Jim Raynor cut in, unfolding his arms. "Saddle up. Time we paid our Confederate friends a good visit." He scooped up his own helmet and gauss rifle, as the assembled soldiers went about getting their kit together, and proceeding to the waiting dropship.

"You don't sound very worried there, Commander." Raynor noted, approaching the Commander.

"I'm not." The Commander admitted, looking up at the marshal's armored form. "The premise is simple enough. Light resistance." He reached over, thumbing the switch on the projector, switching it off. "Nothing you and your boys can't handle."

Raynor perked his eyebrow, the edges of his mouth forming a sarcastic smile. "Maybe you shouldn't put too much trust in my skills, Commander."

The Commander tiled his head to the side. "You doubting yourself, cowboy?"

Jim chuckled. "Never." With that, he turned on his heel, and began to march to the dropship.

"Raynor." He turned. The Commander held up a metal hip flask, before tossing it over to his subordinate.

"Never heave home without it."


End file.
